


Saw a Shooting Star and Thought of You

by twilightstargazer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 16:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15295818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer
Summary: “When’s the audition?” she asks, slowly flipping through the script.“It’s more of a table read than an audition,” Anya says, shifting a little in her chair, a movement that does not go unnoticed by Clarke.She narrows her eyes at her. “What do you mean it’s a table read? They don’t even know if I’m still a good actor.”“Diyoza is very confident in your talents,” she reassures her. “She is, of course, able to open auditions if you’re not up to par, but as far is it seems, she wants you and only you.”Clarke doesn’t let up on her stare. “That’s not it. There’s more to all of this. Out with it.”Anya sighs and focuses on picking invisible lint off her pants. “Well, they’ve already casted your co-lead. Bellamy Blake.”





	Saw a Shooting Star and Thought of You

**Author's Note:**

> BFF fill for the prompt: bellarke actors au where they starred in a hollywood blockbuster that was HORRIBLE yet somehow was both of their boost to fame, years later they reconnect/work together again (with some bonus enemies to friends to lovers thrown in there as well)

The thing about Hollywood is that it’s all a matter of luck, chance, and the slightest bit of talent.

When Clarke was eight she nabbed her first acting role thanks to her mother, the esteemed Abby Griffin. It was on one of those family sitcoms, a Seinfeld for the modern era that ran for five years, and Clarke was the kid who was  _ going places. _

The show had barely finished its farewell press tour before her mother signed her up for a movie that began filming Arizona just two weeks later and all of a sudden that was her life for the next seven years. Movie after movie, procedural after procedural. All in hopes that one day Abby’s years of grooming would pay off and land Clarke a role that would win her an Oscar.

And it was working, because at twenty, Clarke was a household name. Maybe not quite up to Oscar standards, but she definitely garnered a couple teen choice nominations.

And then her dad died.

And things went… south.

 

* * *

 

 

The script lands on the coffee table with a dull thud and Clarke squints at Anya through one eye from where her face is buried in one of Raven’s throw cushions.

“What’s that?” she asks, voice muffled through the vivid pink fabric and cross-stitched swears.

“A lifeline,” says Anya as she scrolls through her phone. “I heard you could use one.”

Clarke’s spent the past couple of months traversing the Canadian wilderness with her girlfriend, completely cut off to the outside world until the two of them got into an argument that eventually culminated in a breakup. After that they went their separate ways with Clarke hitch hiking to the nearest airport and scrounging up her last bit of savings to book a flight to New York where she’s been crashing on Raven’s couch ever since, homeless, heartbroken, and flat out broke.

So yeah, she could use a fucking lifeline.

Still, she doesn’t budge, just switching to squinting suspiciously at Anya instead.

“Who the hell would even want to work with me?” asks Clarke. “The last onscreen bit I was in was a commercial for laxatives. I haven’t done any real acting in like two years.”

“Charmaine Diyoza,” Anya says, as if things will suddenly slide into place and make sense for her.

(Spoiler alert: they don’t.)

She finally slides her phone into the pocket of her blazer and looks at Clarke- really looks at her- for the first time since she arrived on Raven’s doorstep in a power suit with a briefcase in tow.

Clarke’s always said that if Anya wasn’t like an older sister to her- and wasn’t her old manager- she would be just her type.

“Diyoza is a new producer on the block. She’s no-nonsense, tough, doesn’t take any shit from anyone. Came from the military and has proven to be a go-to for anything written up that alley. Only produced a handful of films and shows thus far but all of them have received several awards.” Her lips twitch, “And she was a fan of yours back in the  _ Silent Eyes _ days.”

_ Silent Eyes _ is what could be described as Clarke’s prime. It was a primetime drama that was convoluted upon belief and the closest to a main role she’s ever gotten. It’s also the role she garnered the most critical acclaim and praise for, her time on the show bringing her numerous award nominations.

“It’s some kind of dystopian drama/sci-fi filled with rising up against classicism and eating the rich or something like that,” she says, completely blas é about the whole thing as if she were relaying a weather report.

Clarke lifts an eyebrow. “Or something like that?” she questions and Anya shrugs.

“Hey, you’re not paying me. I have clients that are actually paying me to read scripts and find them parts. You’re lucky I even skimmed.”

“Wow, you’re really selling it to me right now.”

“It’s HBO. You’ll be getting HBO money out of it. I did that out of the kindness of my own heart for you, Clarke Griffin.”

It gets a slight smile out of her and she’s quick to hide it behind one of the many pillows covering the couch. “Yeah, yeah, you’re the best I know. Thanks for helping me not remain unemployed and homeless.”

She finally sits up, both so she could aim a friendly nudge at Anya’s foot and so that she could grab the script off the table without doing something dumb in the process. Like rolling off of the couch or pulling a muscle in her shoulder.

“When’s the audition?” she asks, slowly flipping through the script.

“It’s more of a table read than an audition,” Anya says, shifting a little in her chair, a movement that does not go unnoticed by Clarke.

She narrows her eyes at her. “What do you mean it’s a table read? They don’t even know if I’m still a good actor.”

“Diyoza is very confident in your talents,” she reassures her. “She is, of course, able to open auditions if you’re not up to par, but as far is it seems, she wants you and only you.”

Clarke doesn’t let up on her stare. “That’s not it. There’s more to all of this. Out with it.”

Anya sighs and focuses on picking invisible lint off her pants. “Well, they’ve already casted your co-lead. Bellamy Blake.”

Clarke worked with Bellamy Blake before back on  _ Silent Eyes _ and they shared the same storyline back then too. She was the daughter of an ailing CEO set on inheriting her father’s company while Bellamy played the attorney that worked against her in the courtroom. As with all TV dramas, that wasn’t the extent of their relationship as it was revealed in the midseason finale that their characters were sleeping together.

It was a predictable plot twist, but it was one of the few parts of the show that kept viewers hooked and begging for more.

It also probably helped that Bellamy and Clarke’s offscreen relationship was…  _ strained  _ at the very best.

The easiest way to describe their relationship back then was that the antagonism and shouting matches didn’t just extend itself to the small screen.

“Just remember,” Anya says after Clarke says nothing for a good moment or so, “It’s HBO and you’re so broke that you’re living on your best friend’s couch eating ramen for dinner. There is no good excuse out there for you to turn this gig down.”

“Fuck you, ramen is delicious,” is all she could say in response and Anya smirks.

“They plan to start filming in L.A. in two months, but want you at the read through on Monday. I’ve got an email prepared for you with flight and hotel information and we’ll work on getting you a place to stay for the next six months if this goes well,” she says, sending off the email with a definitive tap. Clarke’s phone chirps with the alert only a couple seconds later.

“4 a.m. flight in a middle seat?” she wrinkles her nose.

“Beggars can’t be choosers, Griffins,” Anya says as she picks her things up to go. “I suggest you give the script a read and pack a bag for the trip. And for the love of god make sure whatever grievances you have with Blake are aired somewhere in private away from the set. The last thing I need to deal with right now is your faces on the cover of every tabloid with even more bad press. I’ve had enough phone calls with Charles Pike to last a lifetime.”

Clarke rolls her eyes but concedes anyway. “Yes ma’am.”

 

* * *

 

 

_ The Edge of Hope _ was the working title of the show so far and a small part of Clarke wished it would get changed before they officially started shooting. In the pilot alone there were two, drawn out, gory death scenes and the title made the show seem a bit too… hopeful.

Unless that was the point of course. Clarke never really understood creative ironies.

The show in itself was well written and the pilot ended on a cliffhanger that left her wanting more. It’s a dystopian sci-fi focused on space colonies that shows what happens when governments fail their people, with lots of moral ambiguity and grey areas in between. It’s an interesting premise and Clarke is more than excited to play Captain Evelyn Perkins, a young but fierce officer who’s conflicted between her service and doing what is right.

She can see why Diyoza is so critically acclaimed; the woman definitely knows how to write a compelling storyline.

The morning of the table read Clarke gets there twenty minutes early and runs into Bellamy Blake. Literally.

He steadies her with a hand on her shoulder and she swears as some of her coffee sloshes over, almost landing on her shoes.

Clarke met Bellamy when she was on the cusp of eighteen, right when he was introduced to the show to play the young and hot but bloodthirsty attorney tasked with taking down her family.

Her first thoughts when she saw him was that he definitely fit the hot part. With broad shoulders and floppy boy band hair, Clarke thought that he was absolutely  _ dreamy _ .

And then he opened his mouth and made some quip about her never having to work a day in her life after their first scene together to which she responded by saying he was obviously only cast because he was just a pretty face and their rivalry was born.

Of course, that was years ago when she was still a teenager. Now they’re both adults and she’s certain that they’ll get along much better or at the very least be able to feign amicability.

“Princess,” he says with a smirk, looking down at her. “Long time, no see.”

Scratch that, she still wants to punch Bellamy Blake’s stupidly handsome face as much as she did when she was eighteen.

“Blake,” she says through gritted teeth. “How you’ve been?”

“Oh you know,” he shrugs, “Good. I’m more interested to hear what you’ve been up to though. Last I saw of you, you were working with… Dulcolax?”

If she grinds her teeth any harder she’s going to end up needing a set of dentures.

Still, Clarke forces herself to keep on smiling. Her cheeks are beginning to cramp. “I’m not surprised you’ve heard of it,” she said in a saccharine voice, “You  _ are  _ full of shit after all.”

There’s a tic in his cheek and she takes it as a sign of victory.

The rest of their time together goes like that, the two of them sniping and flinging insults back and forth under their breath. It’s different to how it was when they were younger though; now it’s almost fun to criticise the way he used to straighten his hair after he calls her modern day barbie.

It’s good that their animosity translates over to the table read too, Bellamy playing Dominic, the charismatic leader of the rebellion forming in the poorer parts of the province who butts heads with Clarke’s Evelyn more than once throughout the first episode. The snapping and the glaring are almost second nature to them both and it seems to have worked in their favour judging from the pleased smirk gracing Diyoza’s face.

Clarke’s not all that surprised that she gets the part when the read is over. She knows she’s a damn good actress and the victory is all too sweeter when she realises that she got to show Bellamy first hand that she can land a role without the input from her mother.

It’s also nice that after the read is over and she’s milling around talking to Monty, who plays one of her fellow officers on the show, Bellamy places a hand on the small of her back as he passes behind her and murmurs, “Nice job, princess,” on his way out.

She certainly did not blush in response to that but the little bit of colour that entered her cheeks could be easily blamed on the malfunctioning air conditioning.

Clarke doesn’t see him again until they start shooting almost two months later, and she certainly didn’t make an effort to get to know him like she did with Monty and Emori. If anyone asked, she was too busy finding a place to live for the next six months while they shoot, but the truth is she just didn’t want to deal with him until necessary.

Still though, on the first day of shooting, Clarke finds his trailer parked right next to hers and she takes it upon herself to be the bigger person and get them started on the right foot.

Grabbing a plate of pastries from crafty and stuffing her pockets with cream and sugar, she precariously carries two paper cups of coffee and a variety of sweet treats to hair and makeup where Bellamy is sitting in a chair while someone finishes dabbing concealer into his skin.

She thrusts a cup of coffee towards him and he blinks owlishly at her.

“Peace offering,” she says clippedly. “I figured we’re both adults and we can get through this gig together without anyone screaming in the other’s face.”

He smirks as he takes the cup from her with murmured thanks. “Last I checked princess you’re the one who did most of the screaming.”

“Because you’re the one who insisted on kicking the hornet's nest.”

“I was just relaying some helpful critique.”

“Yeah well you could have taken your critique and shoved it up your-”

“This is working out so well,” he drawls, taking a long pull from his coffee and she glowers at him.

“Alright fine,” she huffs, setting down the pastries and her coffee on the empty counter space between them. He immediately plucks a cherry danish from the plate just as another makeup artist starts dabbing foundation on her cheeks. “How about this, you leave me alone and I leave you alone. That way no one gets mad or upset when someone tells them that their hair looked stupid.”

“My hair did  _ not  _ look stupid-”

“It was ugly, five years have passed, you can admit it now,” she says dryly and Bellamy flicks his crumbs at her.

“You know what, fine. I agree to your terms,” he huffs.

“Good.”

“Good,” he says before turning away from her and she forces herself to say nothing about him always having to have the last word.

She’s not going to be the one to break their truce.

(It would turn out later that that’s a lie; she would be the one to snap at him a mere four hours later after shooting their first scene when he tries to tell her about character motivation.)

It culminates in her calling him an ass while he mockingly asks if she can’t handle real adult work on her own.

It’s a good thing they don’t have any more scenes to shoot together that day as Bellamy receives nothing but frosty silence and a cold shoulder from Clarke.

The next morning when Clarke showed up to work Bellamy is already there and he slides her a latte from the little indie coffee shop a few streets over. It’s always been hard for the two of them to tell the other ‘I’m sorry’, so as far as apologies go, this is as good as it gets.

He doesn’t say I’m sorry. Clarke doesn’t tell him it’s alright.

Instead he just wordlessly hands over the latte and she nods at him as she takes a sip.

Back when they worked on  _ Silent Eyes _ together, their rivalry was one of the things that drew people to the show. It wasn’t the most popular drama out there, but they had a fair amount of viewers and a large enough online fanbase that their petty squabbles were always all over the internet for those to see. 

They maintain their rivalry throughout the entire run of the first season. Most days it’s painless jibes and quick banter, but sometimes someone would hit a nerve and they’d have to endure cold silence until the next day, where they’ve learnt to buy forgiveness in lattes and overpriced pastries.

Diyoza didn’t seem to mind; in fact, she seemed to use it to her advantage, working it into almost every article and interview they got.

_ What’s it like behind the scenes? _

_ It’s fun, not exactly like a family, but more like a college dorm. Everyone gets along, even Clarke and Bellamy though they do spend a considerable amount of time at each other’s throats. It’s all in goodwill though. It’s all fun. _

Usually Clarke would feel strange seeing her personal relationship with Bellamy monetized like that, but it’s definitely helped in generating a buzz around the show. Not that it needed much help in that department. It had a solid premise with an award winning producing and several famed actors and actresses, including Bellamy himself.

While Clarke went through what was deemed ‘her Britney era’ Bellamy landed himself a role in the Harry Potter prequels playing none other than James Potter. He was kind of a big deal, and wherever he goes, his legions of fangirls were sure to follow.

Including some of their old fans from their  _ Silent Eyes  _ days who’ve founded all sorts of ridiculous theories about the two of them that she doesn’t even want to think about.

“A lot of them think you two were fucking back then,” Raven tells her, her voice sounding tinny through her laptop speakers. They always try to video chat on Sunday nights if they don’t have anything else going on and while Clarke tries her best to stay away from fan conspiracies, Raven thrives in them.

“Gross,” she says, reflexively.

“Apparently you and Blake were a thing but wanted to keep it a secret so you overcompensated by pretending to hate each other’s guts in public,” she continues, “This is your second chance at love. How cute.”

“Again,” Clarke says, “Gross.”

“What, you’re telling me that you won’t hit that?”

She hesitates.

The thing is, Clarke knows Bellamy is hot. He’s always been hot- or at the very least cute- but now he’s grown into it. Nice broad shoulders, messy dark curls, biceps the size of her head. He’s hot and they both know it.

But she also knows that he’s a straight up  _ dick _ .

So all she does is shrug and say, “Well yeah, if I had never spoken to him before. He is, objectively speaking, beautiful.”

“Solid praise coming from you,” she snorts.

Clarke flashes her the finger in response.

They only talk for a few more minutes, about Raven’s job and what Clarke plans on doing when shooting wraps at the end of the month before going their separate ways on the grounds that they both have work tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

They throw a party on the last day of shooting and Clarke gets drunk.

She doesn’t  _ mean  _ to get drunk of course.

They started off the celebrations at five, right after the Diyoza yelled cut by popping open a bottle of cheap champagne and sharing out plastic cups of boxed wine. That on its own wasn’t enough to get her drunk- wasn’t enough to get  _ anyone  _ drunk really- but then Monty dragged them out to his favourite bar a couple blocks away for beers.

After spending an hour there, Emori wanted to play pool so they headed over to her favourite bar in Koreatown.

From there they took turns bar hopping, go to each other’s favourite spots, drinking more and more until they ended up in Santa Monica pier and Clarke realised that maybe the room shouldn’t be spinning that way after downing another tequila shot.

She excuses herself to stumble outside, hoping the tangy seabreeze would help sober her up.

It’s out here she finds Bellamy, leaning against the wooden railings looking out at the sea with a half empty bottle of beer next to him.

He doesn’t say anything when she sidles up next to him, propping all of her weight up against the railings.

Staring out at the ocean, Clarke could pretend that there was nothing else in the world but the two of them, two insignificant spots on the earth.

“You know,” she says after a couple of minutes of silence, “You’re not that bad.”

He snorts. “Thanks for the compliment, princess.”

She nudges him with her hip. “I mean it. You try to act like a tough guy who doesn’t give a fuck but the truth is, Bellamy Blake, you’re a softy,” she says, wobbling a little as she tries to jab him in the chest. “A big, stupid, softy.”

Bellamy, for his part, looks more amused than anything else. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

She makes a face at him. “Maybe.”

“Figures,” he snorts, “The only time Clarke Griffin would ever truly relax is when she’s got more alcohol than blood pumping through her veins.”

“That’s not true,” she frowns. “I can relax. I’m fun.”

“Sure you are princess.”

“Why are you always mean to me?” she asks, stepping into his space. “Ever since we met you’ve hated me and yeah, okay I could understand back then it was because of my mom but why now?”

He hesitates. “I don’t hate you,” he tells her, voice soft but serious. “I’ve never hated you, Clarke.”

“You never liked me either,” she grumbles, and he snorts.

“Maybe,” he allows. “I was jealous. You were right, it was because of your mom. I had to hold down a job at night during my first gig just to pay the bills and you could walk right in and get whatever you wanted handed to you just because you were Abby Griffin’s daughter.”

“I never wanted that,” she protests weakly.

He offers her a half smile. “I know that now but back then… look, we can both agree that back then we were young and stupid.”

Bellamy turns back out to the sea and takes a swig of his beer, hesitating for a beat before offering the bottle to her. She takes a sip and wrinkles her nose at the taste. She’s never liked beer. It’s always reminded her of sweaty gym clothes.

“I used to work here,” he says, “At one of the restaurants on the pier bussing tables. I continued to work there even when I got my first role as a recurring guest star on some old Disney show just to help my mom make ends meet.” He flicks the metal cap up in the air and catches it with his other hand. He does it a few more times and Clarke gets entranced, almost missing what he says next.

“... my mom died right before I got casted on  _ Silent Eyes _ . She wanted to be an actress but when she got pregnant with me all of that went out the window. She was so excited when I got my first role. When I came to set, I was so angry that I had to work my ass off just to get a foot in the door while you just had to say who your mom was and you’d have twelve open before you.”

“I couldn’t help it,” she mumbled, sliding her hands in the pockets of her sweatshirt. “My mom wanted me to be the next her. Since I was old enough to learn lines she was taking me to auditions and I know you think I had it easy,” she says looking up at him through her eyelashes, “But I never wanted to act. I wanted to go to school like other kids did and have stupid crushes and, I don’t know, go to homecoming with a footballer or whatever-”

“You’re just calling out tropes from every teen movie ever,” he teases her, and knocks elbows with him.

“Well yeah, because that’s all I have to base that on. I had private tutors who taught me enough to get my GED.”

Bellamy cocks his head to the side. “If you weren’t acting, what would you be doing?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” she confesses, “I didn’t have an interest in anything my tutors taught me. Maybe because they were so boring, but if I had to choose, maybe art? I like painting and drawing and all that.”

“Huh,” he says, looking at her. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type.”

“Yeah well, we’ve never had a conversation long enough for you to find out.”

“Who knew, all we had to do to get you to be civil was get you drunk,” he smirks. “I should start walking with a flask to work.”

“Haha,” she deadpans. “You’re no walk in the park either.”

“We’re both a pair of dicks,” he says and she throws her head back and laughs.

They stand there in silence, swapping the bottle of beer back and forth until it’s empty. A chilly gust of wind blows through, and Clarke finds herself drawing her sweatshirt tighter around her body.

Bellamy glances at her. “It’s getting late,” he says. “I’ll call an Uber. Where do you live?”

“Back in L.A, like ten minutes from the studio.”

“I’m in Beverly,” he says as he opens the app on his phone.

“Bougie.”

“Shut up.”

They head back inside the bar to say their goodbyes and by the time they’re done, the car is waiting for them.

Clarke doesn’t mean to fall asleep on Bellamy five minutes into the ride but she does. It’s almost 2 a.m. and she’s been up since five the previous day. That, combined with all the alcohol she consumed makes it surprising that she didn’t pass out earlier.

The last thing she remembers before slumber drags her under is leaning against Bellamy’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of his cologne and sweat. It’s an oddly comforting combination.

She wakes up sometime around six, squinting through the watery rays of early morning sunshine in an unfamiliar bedroom. The underwire of her bra is digging painfully into her skin and she’s got an indent on her stomach from where the button of her jeans pressed against her in sleep. Her mouth is disgustingly dry and she can feel the headache starting to stir behind her eyelids.

There’s a bottle of water on the nightstand with a packet of panadol next to it. Behind is a picture of Bellamy, maybe a couple years younger, and another girl, probably his sister if she remembers correctly. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together and realise that after passing out in the Uber, Bellamy let her crash at her place.

He didn’t undress her, just removed her shoes and left a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt at the foot of the bed which she’s grateful for.

Clarke strips off after downing the two tablets and half the bottle and changes into the clothes he left behind. Her phone is dead, but she figures no one would be calling her anyway.

It’s still far too early to be awake, especially after a night of drinking, so Clarke buries herself back in the duvet and sleeps for another couple of hours, waking around ten to the smell of butter and coffee.

There’s an ensuite bathroom that she uses to freshen up- wash her face, throw her bird’s nest of hair up in a ponytail, swish some listerine around her mouth- before slipping her bra back one and venturing outside.

Bellamy Blake is already a lot for her to handle, despite whatever animosity lay between them so now, when she’s just woken up in his bed to him making breakfast? It’s a lot times ten.

He’s barefoot, wearing flannels and an old white tee with glasses as he flips a pancake over on the griddle.

Honestly, it’s like a scene from one of those better homes magazine that lie around every single dentist’s office. Hot guy making breakfast in the middle of an immaculate kitchen.

Some part of her wonders if this is just a dream.

“Morning,” he says, sliding her a mug of coffee. He pulls out a mini bottle of hazelnut creamer that she likes and passes it over.

“Hi,” she says as she fixes her coffee to her liking.

“Slept well?” he asks, trying his best to bite back a smirk.

“Shut up,” she groans.

“First time I’ve ever had someone fall asleep on me before I got them home,” he continues and Clarke aims a kick at him.

“You’re the worst,” she huffs and he ruffles her hair as if she’s some sort of three-year-old.

“Be nice or else I won’t feed you,” he chides her, and Clarke kicks him again for good measure as he brings their plates to the table.

The pancakes are amazing which, she shouldn’t expect anything less from Bellamy Blake. She tries to remain ladylike, but it’s not the easiest to do so when you have syrup dripping down your fingers. He just laughs and passes her a napkin.

“Thanks for, uh, you know,” she says, gesturing around them, “Everything.”

“Well I figured after our night of drunken oversharing it was the least I could do,” he says as he clears their plates. “We might have crossed into friendship territory so you know. What are friends for.”

“You really have a way with words, don’t you?” Clarke snorts, and Bellamy flips her off.

She volunteers to do the dishes since he made them breakfast and Bellamy goes off in search for clothes for her.

(“I really don’t mind just wearing what I had on last night,” she said, and he rolled his eyes.

“And have your picture plastered on every magazine known to mankind for your walk of shame?” he asks. “I like you more now than when we started working together but not enough to bring you back home with me. You’re not my type, princess.”

“You’re a pig,” she tells him, but has to admit that he’s not wrong.)

He ends up finding a couple t-shirts his sister left behind last time she stayed over and Gryffindor sweatshirt with the tag still on it. The shirts are too small so she dons the sweatshirt after her shower and later informs him that she plans on keeping it.

“Trust me, I really don’t mind. After working with the franchise for the past few years I can pretty much get whatever merch I want.”

“Great, because I have a list, starting with a couple wands,” she says and he rolls his eyes again, biting back a smile.

In the end, Clarke decides that she’s not going to leave just yet. Bellamy’s loft feels more at home than the studio she’s been renting for the past six months. It has character, from the shelves of old books on greek and roman myths, to the stack of video games underneath the TV. There’s also a lot of natural light, and it hits the angles of his face in a way that makes her want to sketch.

She doesn’t end up leaving until after dinner, where Bellamy wows her by making homemade lasagne and sharing ice cream on the couch.

“If I didn’t know better I would think you were trying to impress me,” she says once they’ve cleared away the plates.

He smirks. “Like I said before, princess, you’re not my type.”

“What is your type?” she asks, curious.

He shrugs. “Leggy brunettes?”

“That’s not a type, that’s a feature,” she tells him and he shrugs again.

“Alright fine, maybe I’m just not that picky.”

“If the tabloids are to be believed, that’s definitely true,” she snorts. “You’ve probably slept with half of Hollywood by now.”

“Give me some credit, Clarke, it’s probably a quarter.”

She doesn’t see Bellamy again until the show premiers, and they all have a viewing party at Diyoza’s house. It’s an immediate hit, and they get a last minute panel at comic con next month.

This is Clarke’s first time at comic con, but for Bellamy it’s a walk in the park. He’s been here for the past four years for  _ the Marauders  _ and he’s quick to help her find her footing.

If anyone were to ask her where the two of them stood, Clarke wouldn’t know how to give an honest answer. They’ve settled down nicely from the previous antagonism they shared for each other at the start of the season but she’s not sure if she would call them friends as yet.

But when someone asks Bellamy how his relationship with Clarke has changed since their  _ Silent Eyes _ days at their panel, he says just that, saying that they eventually grew into their friendship and Clarke can’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

 

* * *

 

 

Initially, Clarke didn’t plan on doing anything for the show’s hiatus. She planned on maybe flying back to New York to continue living on Raven’s couch, maybe even spending a month over in England where Wells was studying to catch up with her old friend, or looking for actual apartments in L.A. that she could buy instead of living in her shitty studio flat. Anya was right when she said that HBO money would get her back on her feet.

Of course, all of these plans (or lack thereof) were set before the show became massively popular.

So instead of sitting around all day doing nothing, Clarke found herself picking up parts here and there. She’s not quite as ambitious as Bellamy, who’s spending the next three months as the lead in some indie film, or Emori who’s third billed for a Netflix mini series.

Instead she picks smaller roles and cameos, things that keep her relevant enough while also giving her enough time to lounge around and paint and relax. She’s more than happy to keep on living that life.

To no one’s surprise, the show gets picked up for a second season right after the mid season finale and she finds out by Bellamy texting her a myriad of celebratory emojis interspaced with random plants and animals.

That’s also new, the whole texting thing.

She’s still not exactly sure when she slid into friendship with Bellamy Blake other than the night at the pier was a turning point. They’re both terrible texters, Clarke being the kind of person to forget to respond to a message, and Bellamy being the old man that he is to first get freaked out by then completely abuse things like gifs and emojis. It’s a mess, and Raven constantly tells her that she’s embarrassed on behalf of them both.

She sends him a picture of her half empty Starbucks cup captioned:  _ celebratory latte. _

He’s on the other side of the world, in Indonesia or Thailand or somewhere that’s got about a twelve hour time difference so she doesn’t really expect him to reply right away even though he just messaged her. It’s ten at night there and he’s enough of an old man to send out a text and fall asleep right after.

It comes as a pleasant surprise when he replies just a minute later, sending her a picture of some local beer with the label written in a language she can’t understand.

_ Celebratory beer  _ it reads.

_ Gross _ , she replies, followed by a,  _ have one for me _ .

_ How about this, I’ll buy you a drink when I get back in two weeks. _

Her grin is absolutely  _ stupid  _ and she hides it behind her phone as she types back,  _ deal _ .

They don’t get to have that drink though, because by the time he’s flying back to L.A, she’s flying out to Vancouver for a three week stint on some crime show and then he’s off filming something else and their timing is never right.

It’s so bad that they don’t see each other for the entire hiatus, not until they come back out to work and he’s sitting in hair and makeup hunched over while Harper applies concealer to his under eyes.

It feels like d éjà vu.

She brings a plate of pastries from crafty, half cherry danishes and half strawberry tarts that she likes and he slides over a latte.

She lifts an eyebrow. “Apology coffee?”

“What?” he huffs, “Can’t do something nice for a friend?”

“You’re ridiculous,” she smiles, ducking her head, and he flips her off.

“Yeah, well, you missed my ridiculous.”

This season flows much better than the last, and while they still continue to bicker back and forth about the stupidest of things, there’s no cold shoulder or silent treatment to be found.

At the end of the last season, Bellamy’s character lost his place in the rebellion, toppling from his position as leader which brings them here, where he and Clarke finally have to work together instead of against each other in a series of covert operations.

They have more screen time together, with roughly a good two-thirds of her scenes being with him, and half of those are under the cover of darkness where it’s all whispers and closeness.

On one hand Clarke can see the direction the writers want to take this, with eventually having their characters become an item but on the other hand, she can’t help but get distracted by every little thing.

The way he smells, the scar above his lip that stretches when he smiles, the way his eyes can add a whole other dimension to his acting.

It’s a lot to handle.

She and Bellamy are friends that much she’s sure of, but sometimes she wonders if other friends want to curl up in the others arms as much as she does, or hold their hands and play with their fingers while sitting next to each other.

So she’s got a slight crush on her co-star. It’s fine. Everything is _fine_.

 

* * *

 

 

They’re on a two week break from shooting in September, just in time for the Emmys. The show’s nominated for a handful of awards including best actor and actress going towards Bellamy and her respectively.

It does come as a surprise that she’s even nominated, but Clarke is pretty sure that she’s not going to win.

Bellamy though, she’s rooting for him for sure.

The break also coincides with the time Wells is visiting her and she remembers a promise she made to him when they were kids, which is why when Diyoza asks if she has a plus one to carry to the event, she doesn’t think before saying yes.

Wells has always said he wanted to go to one of those things with her, and now is the best time to do so. Everything works out perfectly.

Bellamy is also bringing a plus one, which surprises her but she doesn’t get a chance to ask him about it. The meeting with Diyoza was the last thing they had to do before heading off on break and Wells is flying in that night.

Bellamy doesn’t text her as much during their break but Clarke doesn’t pay much attention to it. She hasn’t seen Wells in almost three years so trying to decode why Bellamy is replying to her texts with gifs of cats knocking things over isn’t really high on her list of priorities.

They elect to take different cars to the Emmys, with Clarke and Wells arriving before Bellamy does with his date. She still hasn’t had the chance to think about that as every time the thought pops into her head, she finds her stomach turning.

When she sees Bellamy walking in with Echo Eisold her stomach all but drops to the floor. She knows that they worked together on  _ the Marauders, _ Echo playing some recurring Slytherin character that she can’t remember right now. She also knows that Bellamy and Echo had an on and off relationship for about two years, right up until he got the part in  _ The Edge of Hope _ .

“Clarke,” he nods as he come to stand next to her, “This is Echo.”

She’s tall, taller than she is and even taller than Bellamy is in the heels she’s wearing and she has a sudden flashback to sitting in his kitchen months ago when he told her he liked leggy brunettes.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said holding out her hand and Clarke takes it, almost robotically.

“You as well,” she manages to get out, dropping her hand as soon as possible. She gestures to Wells. “This is Wells.”

He shakes hands with Echo first, then Bellamy who’s suddenly developed a tic in his jaw.

They stand around talking to people that they know before it’s time to take their seats and soon they’re being ushered through the crowd down to the fourth row from the front.

“I’m pretty sure this is where all the loser actors sit,” Bellamy says dryly and they all laugh. For some reason Echo’s laugh grates on her ears. It reminds her of a particularly annoying bird she once encountered, one that did nothing but squawk aimlessly.

Echo files in first then Bellamy, who places a hand on the small of her back to steady himself as he slips through.

The cut of her dress leaves her entire back exposed and the spot where his hand lingered feels like it’s on fire.

She follows after him, then Wells, and she curses whoever designed the theatre for making the seats so narrow. Bellamy’s suit clad shoulders brush against her bare ones every time he moves and his knee constantly knocks into hers or at one point rests on her thigh when he crosses one leg over the other.

Each brush of his skin against her sends a jolt of electricity coursing through her veins and by the time the awards are set to begin, the flush on her cheeks isn’t just from makeup.

When the lights dim, Clarke heaves a little sigh of relief. Maybe now with something else to focus on, she could forget the irritable asshole besides her. She’ll never understand how someone can make her want to choke the living daylights out of them and kiss them stupid at the same time.

Bellamy seems to be on a mission to drive her out of her mind tonight however, because, as the lights go down, he shifts so that his arm is slung across the back of chair, completely unnoticeable by the others.

It’s not the first time he’s done something like this; they’re no strangers to each other’s personal space, not anymore, but he’s never been so forward with it, letting his fingertips trace the top of her collarbones and smirking slightly when she lets out a shaky breath.

“So what do you think are our chances of winning?” he asks, offhandedly and it makes her jump from how close his mouth is to her ear. The awards have just started, with the host making their introduction on stage at the very moment. Bellamy has to whisper, his lips grazing the shell of her ear when he spoke.

She takes another shaky breath.

“The show has a pretty good chance of winning a couple things not gonna lie, maybe Diyoza might win her award too, but I don’t see us heading up on that stage tonight,” she says, silently congratulating herself for being able to give him a fully coherent answer.

“I can already picture you screaming your lungs out,” he murmurs, making her skin break out in gooseflesh before adding on, “If we win. I’m going to be deaf by the time I leave here.”

“ _ If _ we win,” she says. “We have some tough competition.”

Bellamy scoffs. “Ye of little faith, princess.”

She flashes him a smile and decides to one up him by giving his thigh a brief squeeze. He has to cough to muffle his choking.

“It just means that if we just do so happen to win, I’ll just savour it even more,” she tells him, dropping a wink at him.

The rest of the awards continue like that, Bellamy muttering his own comments into her ear, practically into her neck from how close he’s been. She makes sure to give as good she gets, one upping his words with hers, even going to far to make both Wells and Echo stifle their laughter. Which is good because she seriously cannot handle Echo’s laughter.

(Yes, she is aware that jealousy is an ugly colour on her, but let her have this goddammit.)

It eventually does get to be too much for her to handle though, and during the break she excuses herself to the bathroom to try and calm her racing heart.

She gently fans herself with a wad of disposable napkins and counts backwards from a hundred until her pulse is at a normal rate.

It’s all for naught however, as her traitorous heart picks up again in double time when she steps out and sees Bellamy exiting the men’s room.

Suddenly the need to strangle him weighs out and she finds herself shoving him in a secluded corner, jabbing his chest sharply before demanding to know, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He smirks, ruffling his hair. “What, is it bothering you?”

“Yes,” she says through gritted teeth, “And it’s also clearly bothering your  _ date _ .”

That wipes the smile right off his face. “Oh that’s rich coming from  _ you _ ,” he snaps, remind of the times they used to fight, really fight, slinging cutting insults that they knew would hit their mark.

Clarke draws herself up to her full height but even in heels, he still has a few inches on her. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, princess,” he spits, “That you’ve barely even paid Wells any attention since we got here! At least I check in on Echo every twenty minutes or so.”

“Oh, check in, like she’s some sort of pet turtle you have to make sure hasn’t escaped its bowl,” she scoffs, getting all up in his face. “And for your information, Wells certainly isn’t bothered by me ignoring him. Do you think he  _ wants  _ to hear my stupid drivel? Of course not, he’s spent every single award show we’ve ever watched telling me to shut the fuck up.”

He falters. “What?” he says, but Clarke is too far gone to pay him any heed.

“But no, of course you wouldn’t know that, but you would still pretend to know every fucking thing in the world, right.”

“That was uncalled for-”

“No, what was uncalled for was you lecturing me on how I should treat one of my oldest friends,” she snaps and within the space of a  _ second  _ she sees Bellamy’s face go from anger, to shrouded in confusion, to sweet fucking  _ relief _ .

“Wells is your friend,” he says, and she rolls her eyes.

_ "Yes _ you fucking idiot, I  _ just  _ said that but of  _ course  _ you don’t listen-”

She gets cut off when he suddenly tugs her forward, closing the already minuscule gap between them by sealing his mouth over hers.

His hands are on her cheeks, holding her face as he kisses her hard, almost painfully so, and for a second she’s worried about getting her makeup smudged before it hits her that Bellamy Blake is finally kissing her and holy  _ shit  _ she’s wanted this for  _ months _ .

She grabs at his lapels with her hands and kisses him back, just as hard, just as fierce, savouring every moment, committing everything to memory.

Eventually they slow their pace, switching to soft, languid kisses until the sound of the men’s room door slamming shut reminds them that they’re still in a very public place.

Clarke laughs, hiding her face in his chest and he drops a kiss to the top of her forehead, before just resting there, breathing her in.

“I thought Wells was your date,” he said sheepishly.

“We’ve already established that you’re the fucking idiot here,” she tells him, patting his tie straight before looking up at him. “I thought Echo was yours.”

“I mean, you half right. I just didn’t want to third wheel you and whoever it was that you were bringing. Echo was just available. I don’t even  _ like  _ her,” he says and she snorts.

“Fine, we’re both idiots,” she concedes.

“You would think two grown adults would know how to talk about feelings,” he says, absentmindedly tracing patterns into her back.

“I don’t think anyone knows how to talk about feelings,” she says and he muffles his laugh in her hair. “But most people don’t do it in the bathrooms of an award show.”

“You’re probably right about that,” he agrees before letting his hands drop.

They take a minute to fix themselves before heading back to the amphitheatre, for Clarke to wipe her smudged lipstick and Bellamy to try and make his hair look neat.

The show only wins one of its awards and Clarke screams so loud that she really probably does make him go temporarily deaf.

After, she hugs Wells goodbye as he takes a car back to his hotel while Bellamy sees Echo off, promising to meet him for lunch tomorrow.

Wells rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m not gonna hold you to that,” he says, and Clarke feels herself blush all over.

They had planned on finally getting that celebratory drink after seeing about their respective dates, but when she steals a kiss from Bellamy under the glow of passing streetlights, he tells the driver to just take them straight to his place instead.

There, he presses her up against the door, kissing her soft and slow until she’s just about ready to turn into mush.

“Hi,” he murmurs, bumping his nose against hers, and she giggles.

“Hi.”

He kisses her again, longer this time, and Clarke wraps her arms around him, letting him trail kisses down the column of her neck.

“I’ve wanted to do this for quite some time now,” he says, undoing his tie. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’ve got a stupid crush on you.”

“That makes two of us,” she says, kicking her heels off and throwing her clutch at Bellamy. He deftly catches it and leaves it there on the countertop right at the doorway, leaning in to sneak another kiss.

All of this should have her buzzing with nervous electricity, with butterflies fluttering around in her stomach and her head calculating everything that could go wrong. Instead she feels calm, a happy sort of warmth settled around her shoulders. Bellamy grabs her hand, kissing her knuckles and she squeezes her fingers around his.

There’s no rush to talk about it, to discuss what exactly this is because she knows, just from by looking at the way his eyes soften and crinkle when he looks at her, to the way he holds her like she’s something precious, she knows that they’re on the same page, knows that they both know exactly what they mean to each other without having to say a word.

She leans up on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck, slowly kissing him and feeling everything else drift away. It reminds her of the time they were both drunk at Santa Monica pier, staring out at the ocean and feeling vastly alone.

They’re not alone now though.

Now they have each other and all that goes with it, and Clarke couldn’t ask for anything else.

 


End file.
